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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180003">Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and Gingerbread</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchin_beskar/pseuds/bitchin_beskar'>bitchin_beskar</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests/Asks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mentalist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Christmas Fluff, Dating, F/M, FBI, First Kiss, Fluff, I reference hotch but not by name, Jane and Lisbon are kind of assholes, No use of y/n, and it's like once, but i don't like them, but still, im sorry, nothing super explicit, slight - Freeform, sliiiight crossover, w/ Criminal Minds</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 07:14:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,652</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25180003</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitchin_beskar/pseuds/bitchin_beskar</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Requested on Tumblr at mindless--ramblings:<br/>Can I please get some gingerbread with my soft boi Marcus Pike? 🥺</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marcus Pike/Reader, Marcus Pike/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Requests/Asks [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1771417</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Nutmeg, Cinnamon, and Gingerbread</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>So, while re-watching The Mentalist, I felt a strong resurgence of my hate for Patrick Jane. I don't know why, but I've never liked his character. And ever since Lisbon did poor Marcus dirty like that, I've not really liked her either. So, that definitely came out while I was writing, oops... And yes, I know it rarely snows in Sacramento, but it did snow on December 7th, 2009, so it's definitely possible. Just go with it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>You were late, goddammit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything had fit together so </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfectly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span> something had to go wrong at the last minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your boyfriend was working a case in Sacramento, and had been for a few months now. You’d been sad that the two of you wouldn’t be able to spend Christmas together, but then it was like the stars had aligned, and an unsub had popped up a few counties over, in Santa Clara, and your team was on their way. You’d managed to get your bosses to agree that so long as you took a commercial flight back, and that you’d be home before New Years, you could have a few days off to celebrate with your boyfriend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Your case had been solved relatively quickly, within two weeks, just one day before Christmas Eve, and you’d immediately begun the drive from Santa Clara up to Sacramento. God, your boyfriend had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> excited.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, baby! Guess what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d called him only minutes after getting on the road, too excited to try and keep him in suspense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t tell me–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! We finished the case! I’ve got…” you trailed off, glancing at the GPS. “About two hours before I reach Sacramento!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was a gasp through the speakers before a whoop of excitement rang through the car. “Sweetheart that’s amazing! I was beginning to lose hope!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smiled at the clear and obvious joy in your significant other’s voice. “Me too, babe. I’m so excited to get to spend Christmas with you. I can’t wait to get to your hotel and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>crash</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t wait either, I–” A loud groan suddenly rang out. “Shit, I completely forgot. There’s a Christmas party tonight and the boss wants me there for ‘team bonding’ or something, and I probably won’t get back until late.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You were quiet for a moment, and he must have assumed that you were upset with him. “Sweetheart I’m so sorry, I was so looking forward to seeing you, and now I’m gonna have to ditch you tonight for people I really don’t want to be around and–” you cut him off quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, babe no, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Marcus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, baby, listen to me.” You waited for him to stop before you continued. “It’s not a big deal. What if I come with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pause for a moment, before your boyfriend lets out a small huff of laughter. “That… That might actually work. I can’t imagine the brass complaining about you coming to a Christmas party, especially when you technically work for the same company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You rolled your eyes, but really, he was right. He worked in the Art Theft Program for the FBI, and you worked for the BAU, also for the FBI. The brass was fine with your relationship since you weren’t technically colleagues, so why would they have a problem with you coming to a party?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After getting the details from Marcus, you said goodbye, already anxious for the drive to be over. You had some dressier clothes packed in your bag from the case you’d just worked, so you were going to swing by his hotel and change before meeting him at the CBI headquarters. With your ETA being what it was, you’d be right on time for the start of the party. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least, that had been the plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There had been a car accident right in front of you while you were on your way from Marcus’ hotel room to the CBI Headquarters, and of course, you being the Good Samaritan that you were, stopped to wait for the police. You’d given your statement, but one of the officers would not stop flirting and inviting you out to dinner, no matter how much you insisted you had somewhere to be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When you </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> managed to get him off your back, you were running thirty minutes late, meaning the party was in full swing, and your boyfriend was alone, surrounded by people he didn’t like all that much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus never really talked about the first time he’d worked with CBI, but you knew enough. You knew that he’d fallen in love with an agent, and that she’d agreed to marry him, only to break up with him and get together with an absolute </span>
  <em>
    <span>ass</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a man. Marcus had been left in Washington DC, with no explanation and a broken heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d crossed paths with him maybe... six months after that? It was practically love at first sight for you, and although it took him longer to admit it–you know, due to trust and intimacy issues that were </span>
  <em>
    <span>extremely </span>
  </em>
  <span>valid–Marcus had felt the same. This had led to the two of you getting together on Christmas of all days, and the two of you would have a year of dating under your belts this upcoming December 25th. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, you were about to meet the woman who’d broken Marcus’ heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> the man she’d chosen instead of him, and while honestly, you couldn’t be too upset, since Marcus was now dating </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you could still be mad at her on principle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As you walked into the building’s lobby, where the party was being held, and saw Marcus, you felt your breath hitch. It had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so goddamn long </span>
  </em>
  <span>since you’d seen him, and there he was, only a few feet from you for the first time in over three months. His back was to you, and he seemed to be talking to two people, although you could tell by his posture that he was not enjoying the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Getting closer, you realized that the couple talking to your boyfriend had to be Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon. For one, Jane looked as though he thought he was God’s gift to mankind, and judging by the smirk on his face, he thought himself to be above everyone in the room. And Lisbon looked simultaneously smug and upset, and you guessed she was probably smug that Marcus didn’t seem to have anyone–you knew he hadn’t told the CBI team about your relationship, as he felt it was none of their business–and that she was probably upset that Marcus didn’t look more broken up about her being here with Jane. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>God, it made you sick. Those two had played with Marcus, toyed with his heart, and he didn’t deserve it. Your sweet, loving boyfriend didn’t deserve this, to be stuck on a team with the two people who’d made him so miserable for months on end, and you were glad that, at least for tonight, you could be his buffer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As you approached the trio, Jane’s eyes locked onto you, and you saw a look of confusion on his face at the way you were marching over there like a woman on a mission. Clearly Marcus must’ve noticed Jane’s look, because he turned around just in time to catch you in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You didn’t even have time to look at Jane or Lisbon before Marcus’ lips were on yours. His arm held your waist tight against his, his other hand buried in your hair as he kissed you desperately. You knew it was probably a mix of missing you, and frustration with the two CBI agents–well, one CBI agent and one ‘consultant’–but Marcus kissed you as if the world was ending.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips tasted like nutmeg and cinnamon and gingerbread, and it brought you back to when he’d first kissed you, almost a year ago.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>“Agent Pike, you may have a lot of experience, especially when it comes to catching art thieves, but I’m afraid your experience in gingerbread-house making is sorely lacking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The look the agent in question gave you was so reminiscent of a kicked puppy that you wished you had your phone with you to take a picture. He had gingerbread batter all over his hands and smeared on his apron, and he’d somehow managed to get flour and butter into his hair, making it stick up slightly in one spot. He had a little bit of frosting on his cheek, and he had a small nutmeg mustache just under his real one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If you had known what a disaster it would be to invite the special agent into your home to make gingerbread on Christmas Day, you wouldn’t have done it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was a lie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No matter how disheveled and disastrous this impromptu get together turned out to be, you knew you wouldn’t regret it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You’d met him on a case a couple months ago, and ever since, the cute art thief investigator from D.C. just wouldn’t get out of your head. So, when you’d run into him unexpectedly on Christmas Eve, you’d impulsively invited him over the next day when he’d mentioned not having any Christmas plans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And boy were you glad you had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>cute</span>
  </em>
  <span> and instead of getting over your crush–like you’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>intended</span>
  </em>
  <span>–it had only </span>
  <span>grown. He knew how to make you laugh, and he was a perfect gentleman, and he didn’t judge you for not wanting to settle down and be a homemaker like your mom, and he got along with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>cat</span>
  </em>
  <span>–which was an honest-to-god </span>
  <em>
    <span>miracle</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the little bastard didn’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>–and he was perfectly perfect in every single way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the way he was looking at you right now made you want to kiss him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before you could begin to rationalize–whether you’d be rationalizing </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>against</span>
  </em>
  <span> kissing him you weren’t sure–his eyes flickered up to something above your head and then he looked back at you and before you knew it he was leaning in to press a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was warm and soft and perfect and </span>
  <em>
    <span>fleeting</span>
  </em>
  <span> and before you knew it, he was pulling away, a guilty look on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he said softly, looking down at his hands. “There was mistletoe and you just looked so pretty, and I–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You cut him off, placing your hands on his cheeks and pulling his lips back to yours, licking at his lips to taste the mix of nutmeg, cinnamon, and gingerbread. His arms hesitantly wrapped around your waist, as though afraid you were going to bolt, but when you bit gently on his bottom lip, he suddenly crushed you against his chest, bending you back slightly as he devoured you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As you stood kissing in your kitchen, covered in baking ingredients, you found yourself deliriously happy for the sprig of mistletoe hanging above your head.</span>
</p><hr/><p>
  <span>Marcus had always been gently intimate, sweet and soft and loving in a way you’d never experienced before. But this… this kiss was different. His lips pressed hard against yours, and you were suddenly thankful that you weren’t wearing any lipstick because it would have been smudged so thoroughly beyond repair if he kept kissing you like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember that you had an audience, but when you tried to pull away–reluctantly, you might add–Marcus didn’t let you go. He used his grip on your hair to tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss. Your hands were clenched in his suit jacket, letting him control the pace. He slid his tongue into your mouth, and you were lost. He was turning you on with his possessiveness–honestly there really wasn’t any other word for it–and you almost whimpered when he finally pulled away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi baby,” he said breathlessly, his voice much deeper than usual. “How was the drive?” His hand slid out of your hair, only to cup your cheek, running his thumb over your spit-slicked and swollen bottom lip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It took you a minute to answer, your brain still trying to reboot after that mind-blowingly perfect kiss. His arm was still around your waist, his thumb rubbing against your side in the way you knew he liked, to remind himself that you were there, next to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Longer than I wanted, I’m sorry I’m late.” He laughed softly, his eyes as bright as stars. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re fine, darling. I’m just so glad you’re here.” He leaned forward to press a fleeting kiss against your lips, pulling away before either of you lost yourselves again. “Let me introduce you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You turned, finally acknowledging the couple standing in front of you. Lisbon was staring at you, a slight frown on her lips, eyes narrowed in confusion and… jealousy? Wow, she had some nerve if she thought she was allowed to be jealous after what she did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jane, on the other hand, was less composed, a little slack-jawed as his eyes flickered rapidly between the two of you. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Being a profiler and working with multiple </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>profilers on a constant basis made it so that you had a pretty good radar for when someone was analyzing you, and the fact that this man thought he had the right to try and analyze your and Marcus’ relationship </span>
  <em>
    <span>pissed you off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to open his mouth, and you could tell from the look in his eyes it wasn’t going to be nice, so you decided to mess with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi! You must be… Preston? Is it Preston? Oh no, Patrick, I remember!” You felt so damn smug wiping that stupid smirk off his stupid face. “And you! You must be Teresa! Oh, it’s so nice to meet you!” You shook her hand firmly, watching as she just blinked at you.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um… I’m sorry, I don’t know your name, Marcus never mentioned you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>You could tell what she was trying to do, and you weren’t gonna have it. “Oh, Marcus and I don’t advertise our relationship very much. My boss’s wife was killed by the Boston Reaper, and it’s made me a little paranoid that someone might go after him just to get to me.” You knew it was kind of a low blow, but Teresa-fucking-Lisbon broke Marcus’ heart and you were not letting her off easy. “But, that’s the life of a BAU profiler, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded slowly, clearly thrown off guard by your little display. Marcus’ arm was tight around your waist, and you were pleased to see her eyes drop slightly to his hand on your waist, only to quickly look back up when she saw it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really hate to be rude, and I know I just got here, but I’ve not seen Marcus in person in over three months, and you can only do so much over the phone, you know?” You heard someone choke on their drink behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “Maybe I’ll see the two of you later?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without giving them a chance to respond, you turned on your heel, walking back out the doors and into the parking lot, Marcus in step next to you. The two of you didn’t speak until you arrived at his car, only for him to use his arm around your waist to push you against the side of his SUV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was dark out, but you could clearly see Marcus’ eyes peering down at you, swimming with emotion. “Baby, what was that in there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You smirked, wrapping one of your hands around his tie. “I wasn’t about to let Jane start talking shit about you, or me, or what he thought our relationship was. And I saw how Lisbon was eyeing you.” You pulled him down to your level, whispering against his lips. “I had to show her I meant business.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Marcus huffed out a small laugh, and the gust of air caressed your lips. “Sweetheart, that was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>sexy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>You brushed your lips ever so softly against his. “Teresa Lisbon had her chance. You’re mine, now and forever.” You kissed him harder, and as snow began to fall in the CBI parking lot, two days before Christmas, you whispered one more admission against his lips. “And I’m yours.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Check out my tumblr, mindless--ramblings! Feel free to request any prompts from the list posted there! I'll be working on any requests I get in between chapters of my other series. I hope you enjoy this one-shot!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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